After finishing the last sip of my avocado juice, I leaned back in my chair with a long, defeated sigh. I wasn't defeated by life — no, I was defeated by breakfast. Claude's breakfast. His cooking was always too good, too comforting, too full of that warm softness that made me want to crawl back into bed and wrap myself in his arms.
Claude, of course, was watching me like he had nothing else better to do in his entire life.
"You look full," he said.
"I am full."
"You look cute."
"I'm always cute."
He smiled, dipping his head in agreement. "That's true."
His shamelessness somehow made my cheeks warm again. It didn't help that he was leaning on the chair behind me, casually caging me in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Come here," Claude murmured.
"No," I replied immediately.
"How cruel."
"I need to let my stomach rest. If I move too much, I'll explode."
